TheDeuce
Contributor
OK, heres the story:
Back in September my wife, whos expecting twins in January (in addition to our four year old and 19 month old boys), suggested I book a dive trip in the fall. Noting that it would be my last one until the year 2025 she recommended I make it a good one. This pointed directly to the liveaboard options out there. Having done the Caymans back in 2010, and having been skunked of seeing the Kittiwake by one of the multitude of delays, the Cayman Aggressor IV seemed like a natural choice. Then indecision struck I read the trip review of the Caribe Dancer, one of the other liveaboards in the Aggressor fleet. The thought of a week of cold pasta mush, backed up sewers, and zero nitrox gave me serious pause. In the end the allure of the Kittiwake (an exciting prospect for a Manitoba diver with some 45ish dives under his belt) won out over the Turks & Caicos option that ran a close second.
So how was the trip? In a word, perfect. My expectations were exceeded across the board. Im shocked that the same company that put out the Caribe Dancer mess, and then ran and hid from it, could do everything oh-so-right on the CAIV. I suppose its the risk you take when some of the boats are franchised out and others are owned directly by Aggressor itself quality becomes a variable dependent on whos running the (local) show. Still think Wayne & Co. should have taken one on the chin with the Caribe Dancer mess though. It cost them a couple of berths from two friends of mine and the travel agent I booked with seems to be pushing Aggressor pretty low on her list of recommendations. Myopic decision-making is expensive!
Enough background heres the story. Pardon the sometimes indiscreet expression and sad attempts to elicit chuckles. Im an irrepressible smart-ass.
Quick background:
Departure from Winnipeg at 6 AM, meant a planned arrival at the airport at 4 AM. Packing issues, last-minute items on the home front, and the adrenaline all added up to zero sleep overnight. What the heck, Ill sleep on the plane. Arriving in Georgetown around 3 PM after flying sardine class from Winnipeg (with stops in Chicago and Houston around two hours sleep) I quickly ran through customs and headed to what was, to me, the first-class area the smoking section. See now, I dont smoke at home. Ever. But when Im on vacation I grab a carton from duty-free and chain huff my way through the week (well, more like a quarter pack a day, but the point remains). Ten minutes later, nerves settled, I head towards the cab stand. Finding a gentleman booking a ride to the CAIV there, we agreed to share a cab. Presently, Im on the CAIV, welcomed by Captain Lauren (filling in for a week) and start unpacking. First thing I notice: what I thought was careful packing at midnight didnt do the job. Ikelite dome port? Two pieces.
%&*(*)#!!!.
Hats off to Sarah who called Cathy Churchs shop, drove me there, and hung out while I dealt with my situation. Call me Mr. Lucky: the gent working the counter (cant recall the name, he said to call him Tee) pointed out that the dome was fine, the hood just needed to be screwed back into place. The $15 minimum repair charge was money well spent and a relief. I had all kinds of extra insurance on my luggage in case something like this happened but didnt want to have to go there.
Back on board (thanks Sarah) we sat down to dinner and then went through the orientation. Technical difficulties with the AV system meant we got to watch Captain Lauren do her best Wayne Hasson impression in giving us the orientation. She has the gruff demeanor down, but needs to work on her beard. Orientation was good but I didnt know how seriously they take their condiments on these trips. On and on about the mustard station. The only mustard I saw was on Hamburger Tuesday, so it must me some legal thing. Lauren wrapped up by asking if there were any smokers on board. One hand up. Mine. Oh well, it looks like a good bunch. Three or four small groups makes it easier for a wise-cracking third wheel like myself to blend in. I was worried that the Captain was going to be saying "We welcome on board 17 members of the 'Too Extreme For The NRA Dive Club' and Mike. The Clubs membership is comprised of people kicked out of the NRA for being too out-there. Mike, while straight, is not actively opposed to gay unions. Dodged that bullet!
After dinner and the show (the DVD intro eventually worked) I retired upstairs for a relaxing Camel Wide. To my surprise two other guests joined me to enjoy a nice Monte Cristo or two. I guess the definition of smoker depends on whos asking.
Next day dive day one! Im exhausted, still behind on my sleep. No matter, lets go! Check the O2 level in my tank (my first time on Nitrox!) and we have a problem. Its measuring 28% and my SSI Nitrox Card says 32% ONLY! Being a loose cannon who doesnt play by the rules I keep my mouth shut and gleaned thorough enjoyment from being the bad boy of diving. Morning dives were terrific but what was even better was the nap I took after lunch. Still tired when giant striding into Stingray City, I got my snaps and thumbed the dive early. Stingray City is only 12 feet deep so I had to dig a fair bit to do my 20 foot safety stop. Lots of work but safety first!
Up next for everyone else Tarpon Alley. For me a bunk and my CPAP machine. Its the only dive I scrubbed the whole week but at least Im caught up on my sleep. No more scrubbed dives for me. Maxing out my dive count is important for spite. You see, I started diving a year after my usual dive buddy did, spotting him 15 dives or so. Every trip I get closer by one or two dives but never caught him. With 29 dives added to the log, I can see his shiny, growing forehead in the rear-view mirror. Ah, spite.
Night dive heres where my expectations were exceeded. What I expect when I get on the boat? A pile of towels somewhere. What I got after every dive towels neatly hung out on the railing for convenient access. Night dive the crew are handing out warm towels fresh from the dryer! Expectations: exceeded. A late night snack and Im ready for some music, maybe some dancing, whatever its a party! Were on vacation! Late nights of beer, wine, song. Let every night be one of those nights. What I get me sitting alone in the dining room watching Game of Thrones on my computer. Everyone else is in bed because, after all, its eight frickin thirty. Even my 19 month old back at home was still up, dancing to the tunes of Thomas the Tank Engine. Sad. Just sad.
Wake up in the morning feeling nothing like P. Diddy (sorry Kei$ha), I grumble my way to the coffee machine. Breakfast, dive, snack, dive, lunch, nap, dive, dive, dinner, dive and up to the top deck for a smoke. Its now myself, my two cigar smoking friends, and one of their buddies who Im happy to supply a smoke to. The closet smokers are coming out, were now four of fifteen. Four more and were at critical mass. Tonight ready for a nice late night, make up for last night. Ready? Set? Crickets! Its a little better though my cabin mate made it to ten PM, shooting the breeze and swapping dive stories. Of course, he has some 800 dives or so to my 40some so after sharing my Cuba fiasco I had to resort to stories my buddies shared with me. Based on a true story as they say in Hollywood. Given that we were the only two still awake we dubbed ourselves the Double Digit club in honour of making it all the way to ten PM. (Well, more Game of Thrones for me meant a midnight bedtime. Napping messes with the schedule, dont you know.)
Tuesday morning brought more of the same. Wake up, breakfast, dive, snack, dive, lunch, nap, dive, snack, dive, dinner, dive. Repeat as necessary. The viz was starting to be hit and miss, courtesy of Hurricane Sandy working her way north off in the eastern distance. Overall the diving was standard Caymanian fare. Rough seas ruled out a run to Little Cayman so the grizzled veteran divers were disappointed but I, with forty or so dives under my BCD, was satisfied with what Grand Cayman had to offer. Im sure the greybeards out there would have been pining for Bloody Bay but I was consoled by considering the alternative back home. A pumpkin carve dive in 37 degree West Hawk Lake, an annual event of a local dive group. Dont get me wrong, those guys carved some nice jack-o-lanterns in 60 feet of near-freezing fresh water but I was OK giving that up for Big Tunnels, the Doc Poulson, and The Maze. Tough call, I know.
I want to throw out a big bouquet for a closing note. The rough seas meant no docking in Georgetown, no night off for the staff, and no heading home for any of them. They handled it like pros, keeping up the same great service that we had all week. Make no mistake, I wouldnt have taken the news as well if I had to work on my one day off. We had one last great dinner, followed by smokes and drinks up top to wrap up the evening. Our Double Digit Club expanded to ten or more so I was impressed, although a few guests had been imbibing heavily ever since the last dive and were in a rather unraveled state, making the Double Digit Club in body, if not in spirit(s). The smoker count was now up to six or seven, depending on how you count the lady who doesn't inhale. Never got to the 50% mark, but we gave it a run.
Departure day had supplies being shuttled on the dinghy and the staff working double-time to get the boat ready. Our departure was on said dinghy and I had wanted one last smoke before I left. Captain Lauren denied me permission to do so on the stern of the boat though, noting the oxygen from the Nitrox mix along with some of the fuel fumes made the area unfriendly to smokers. I tried to explain how the oxygen would help the cigarette burn faster and the cigarette would help eliminate the fuel fumes but she would have none of it. One last dinghy ride to shore, a cab ride to the airport, final smoke, and I was on my way home.
Sigh. How long until 2025?
Plenty of pix Ill post them if theres any interest.
m.
Back in September my wife, whos expecting twins in January (in addition to our four year old and 19 month old boys), suggested I book a dive trip in the fall. Noting that it would be my last one until the year 2025 she recommended I make it a good one. This pointed directly to the liveaboard options out there. Having done the Caymans back in 2010, and having been skunked of seeing the Kittiwake by one of the multitude of delays, the Cayman Aggressor IV seemed like a natural choice. Then indecision struck I read the trip review of the Caribe Dancer, one of the other liveaboards in the Aggressor fleet. The thought of a week of cold pasta mush, backed up sewers, and zero nitrox gave me serious pause. In the end the allure of the Kittiwake (an exciting prospect for a Manitoba diver with some 45ish dives under his belt) won out over the Turks & Caicos option that ran a close second.
So how was the trip? In a word, perfect. My expectations were exceeded across the board. Im shocked that the same company that put out the Caribe Dancer mess, and then ran and hid from it, could do everything oh-so-right on the CAIV. I suppose its the risk you take when some of the boats are franchised out and others are owned directly by Aggressor itself quality becomes a variable dependent on whos running the (local) show. Still think Wayne & Co. should have taken one on the chin with the Caribe Dancer mess though. It cost them a couple of berths from two friends of mine and the travel agent I booked with seems to be pushing Aggressor pretty low on her list of recommendations. Myopic decision-making is expensive!
Enough background heres the story. Pardon the sometimes indiscreet expression and sad attempts to elicit chuckles. Im an irrepressible smart-ass.
Quick background:
Departure from Winnipeg at 6 AM, meant a planned arrival at the airport at 4 AM. Packing issues, last-minute items on the home front, and the adrenaline all added up to zero sleep overnight. What the heck, Ill sleep on the plane. Arriving in Georgetown around 3 PM after flying sardine class from Winnipeg (with stops in Chicago and Houston around two hours sleep) I quickly ran through customs and headed to what was, to me, the first-class area the smoking section. See now, I dont smoke at home. Ever. But when Im on vacation I grab a carton from duty-free and chain huff my way through the week (well, more like a quarter pack a day, but the point remains). Ten minutes later, nerves settled, I head towards the cab stand. Finding a gentleman booking a ride to the CAIV there, we agreed to share a cab. Presently, Im on the CAIV, welcomed by Captain Lauren (filling in for a week) and start unpacking. First thing I notice: what I thought was careful packing at midnight didnt do the job. Ikelite dome port? Two pieces.
%&*(*)#!!!.
Hats off to Sarah who called Cathy Churchs shop, drove me there, and hung out while I dealt with my situation. Call me Mr. Lucky: the gent working the counter (cant recall the name, he said to call him Tee) pointed out that the dome was fine, the hood just needed to be screwed back into place. The $15 minimum repair charge was money well spent and a relief. I had all kinds of extra insurance on my luggage in case something like this happened but didnt want to have to go there.
Back on board (thanks Sarah) we sat down to dinner and then went through the orientation. Technical difficulties with the AV system meant we got to watch Captain Lauren do her best Wayne Hasson impression in giving us the orientation. She has the gruff demeanor down, but needs to work on her beard. Orientation was good but I didnt know how seriously they take their condiments on these trips. On and on about the mustard station. The only mustard I saw was on Hamburger Tuesday, so it must me some legal thing. Lauren wrapped up by asking if there were any smokers on board. One hand up. Mine. Oh well, it looks like a good bunch. Three or four small groups makes it easier for a wise-cracking third wheel like myself to blend in. I was worried that the Captain was going to be saying "We welcome on board 17 members of the 'Too Extreme For The NRA Dive Club' and Mike. The Clubs membership is comprised of people kicked out of the NRA for being too out-there. Mike, while straight, is not actively opposed to gay unions. Dodged that bullet!
After dinner and the show (the DVD intro eventually worked) I retired upstairs for a relaxing Camel Wide. To my surprise two other guests joined me to enjoy a nice Monte Cristo or two. I guess the definition of smoker depends on whos asking.
Next day dive day one! Im exhausted, still behind on my sleep. No matter, lets go! Check the O2 level in my tank (my first time on Nitrox!) and we have a problem. Its measuring 28% and my SSI Nitrox Card says 32% ONLY! Being a loose cannon who doesnt play by the rules I keep my mouth shut and gleaned thorough enjoyment from being the bad boy of diving. Morning dives were terrific but what was even better was the nap I took after lunch. Still tired when giant striding into Stingray City, I got my snaps and thumbed the dive early. Stingray City is only 12 feet deep so I had to dig a fair bit to do my 20 foot safety stop. Lots of work but safety first!
Up next for everyone else Tarpon Alley. For me a bunk and my CPAP machine. Its the only dive I scrubbed the whole week but at least Im caught up on my sleep. No more scrubbed dives for me. Maxing out my dive count is important for spite. You see, I started diving a year after my usual dive buddy did, spotting him 15 dives or so. Every trip I get closer by one or two dives but never caught him. With 29 dives added to the log, I can see his shiny, growing forehead in the rear-view mirror. Ah, spite.
Night dive heres where my expectations were exceeded. What I expect when I get on the boat? A pile of towels somewhere. What I got after every dive towels neatly hung out on the railing for convenient access. Night dive the crew are handing out warm towels fresh from the dryer! Expectations: exceeded. A late night snack and Im ready for some music, maybe some dancing, whatever its a party! Were on vacation! Late nights of beer, wine, song. Let every night be one of those nights. What I get me sitting alone in the dining room watching Game of Thrones on my computer. Everyone else is in bed because, after all, its eight frickin thirty. Even my 19 month old back at home was still up, dancing to the tunes of Thomas the Tank Engine. Sad. Just sad.
Wake up in the morning feeling nothing like P. Diddy (sorry Kei$ha), I grumble my way to the coffee machine. Breakfast, dive, snack, dive, lunch, nap, dive, dive, dinner, dive and up to the top deck for a smoke. Its now myself, my two cigar smoking friends, and one of their buddies who Im happy to supply a smoke to. The closet smokers are coming out, were now four of fifteen. Four more and were at critical mass. Tonight ready for a nice late night, make up for last night. Ready? Set? Crickets! Its a little better though my cabin mate made it to ten PM, shooting the breeze and swapping dive stories. Of course, he has some 800 dives or so to my 40some so after sharing my Cuba fiasco I had to resort to stories my buddies shared with me. Based on a true story as they say in Hollywood. Given that we were the only two still awake we dubbed ourselves the Double Digit club in honour of making it all the way to ten PM. (Well, more Game of Thrones for me meant a midnight bedtime. Napping messes with the schedule, dont you know.)
Tuesday morning brought more of the same. Wake up, breakfast, dive, snack, dive, lunch, nap, dive, snack, dive, dinner, dive. Repeat as necessary. The viz was starting to be hit and miss, courtesy of Hurricane Sandy working her way north off in the eastern distance. Overall the diving was standard Caymanian fare. Rough seas ruled out a run to Little Cayman so the grizzled veteran divers were disappointed but I, with forty or so dives under my BCD, was satisfied with what Grand Cayman had to offer. Im sure the greybeards out there would have been pining for Bloody Bay but I was consoled by considering the alternative back home. A pumpkin carve dive in 37 degree West Hawk Lake, an annual event of a local dive group. Dont get me wrong, those guys carved some nice jack-o-lanterns in 60 feet of near-freezing fresh water but I was OK giving that up for Big Tunnels, the Doc Poulson, and The Maze. Tough call, I know.
I want to throw out a big bouquet for a closing note. The rough seas meant no docking in Georgetown, no night off for the staff, and no heading home for any of them. They handled it like pros, keeping up the same great service that we had all week. Make no mistake, I wouldnt have taken the news as well if I had to work on my one day off. We had one last great dinner, followed by smokes and drinks up top to wrap up the evening. Our Double Digit Club expanded to ten or more so I was impressed, although a few guests had been imbibing heavily ever since the last dive and were in a rather unraveled state, making the Double Digit Club in body, if not in spirit(s). The smoker count was now up to six or seven, depending on how you count the lady who doesn't inhale. Never got to the 50% mark, but we gave it a run.
Departure day had supplies being shuttled on the dinghy and the staff working double-time to get the boat ready. Our departure was on said dinghy and I had wanted one last smoke before I left. Captain Lauren denied me permission to do so on the stern of the boat though, noting the oxygen from the Nitrox mix along with some of the fuel fumes made the area unfriendly to smokers. I tried to explain how the oxygen would help the cigarette burn faster and the cigarette would help eliminate the fuel fumes but she would have none of it. One last dinghy ride to shore, a cab ride to the airport, final smoke, and I was on my way home.
Sigh. How long until 2025?
Plenty of pix Ill post them if theres any interest.
m.
Love to see the pictures
